


Healer: Name

by Yeziel_Moore



Series: Dancing With Angels [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeziel_Moore/pseuds/Yeziel_Moore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry is bold, Petunia is more than she seems, new things are discovered and walls are knocked down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healer: Name

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t want to look like I’m covering my ass with this but, I am most certainly not Catholic and I live nowhere near England. I love churches from an aesthetical point of view and because my grandma’s house is near the biggest church in my city and as a child I used to sneak inside to play and generally be in awe at my surroundings. The religion though? I went to a Protestant church not a Catholic one, and we share a lot of things (because I went to Mass a couple of times because of friends and weddings so I know a thing or two) but there are enough differences to mess up everything.
> 
> So, again, I mean no insult to anyone and please correct me if I mangled things too much.

**Disclaimer:** _I don’t own Supernatural or Harry Potter. Only this madness is mine. however, is mine.  
_

 **Words:** _2123._

 

**~o0o~**

 

Harry’s birthdays were noteworthy only in the sense that they _weren’t_ , or, in the last couple of years, by all the new and creative ways in which his relatives would make it miserable for him. Today was Sunday and it was his birthday again, his ninth birthday to be precise, and from the moment Harry opened his eyes to the greyish light filtering through the crack under the door of his cupboard he knew it would be different. He would make it so.

“Aunt Petunia,” he called as they cooked breakfast and waited for her to acknowledge him before going on. “I want to go to Mass today.”

For a second after the words ‘I want’ left his lips Petunia looked ready to slap him, but the violence building in her eyes vanished into stunned surprise as he finished his request ( _careful, that sounded a bit too much like a demand_ , his mind reminded him and he almost winced).

“Why?” Petunia asked, lips pursed and eyes sharp, like a predator stalking prey. It was unsettling, seeing his aunt as anything but the vapid, shallow woman she painted herself as, but also strangely relieving because she was taking him seriously.

Harry considered her and his answer carefully. He knew his aunt was Catholic. She had learnt the Lord’s Word at her father’s knees when she was little (Harry liked to believe and imagine his mother doing the same) and had never missed Mass unless it couldn’t be helped. At least until she fell in love and married a man who had all the faith (and brilliance) of a brick wall. Naturally, she hadn’t told Harry any of this but he had overheard her talking to Dudley in the past, when she still held hope of passing her religion and faith into her son.

It hadn’t worked. Dudley couldn’t sit still for ten minutes if his life depended on it and had even less interest in God than Vernon did. The one time she had forced the boy into his best clothes and inside a church had been a disaster of epic proportions and had almost gotten the entire family banned from the grounds. They certainly didn’t want to see Dudley again until the boy learnt to behave like a civilized being and to keep his thoughts to himself.

Truthfully, in the faith department Harry was no better than his uncle and cousin, but he was quiet and had learnt to be respectful out of self-preservation alone. It didn’t hurt that the local church was something new and exciting if a bit daunting and scary for a four-years-old. It had been an enjoyable trip, all things considered. But no-one cared about Harry’s opinion, and his aunt had been so angry about everything after that one visit that he hadn’t dared voice it, just in case. He knew she missed it though, and four years were enough for her anger to dissipate, right? He could only hope.

“I liked it, back then, and I thought, I _think_ , that it could be nice, to learn more about God and the angels and everything,” he didn’t quite met her eyes as he said this, afraid that she may sense the half lie in his words, and hoping it came off as nervousness.

It wasn’t a complete lie either, Harry _did_ want to learn, specifically he wanted to know more about angels; on the other hand, he could care less about God except as collateral knowledge, because he was quite sure you couldn’t learn about angels without knowing about God too. Everything he had read and heard until now said so.

“Fine!” Petunia said sharply. She eyed him with distrust and disgust but he didn’t think the emotions were as genuine or intense as usual. “Leave those dished in the table, I will finish. Go upstairs and take a shower. Also put on your best clothes and comb your hair, I won’t have you looking like a hooligan inside the Lord’s house!” He couldn’t help it, he gaped at her. She frowned. “What are you waiting for, you stupid boy, go!”

He went.

 

**~o0o~**

 

The visit to the church was and wasn’t what he expected. Mass was somehow both boring and riveting. He didn’t know the songs and tripped over the ritual words and in general felt utterly lost and out of his depth, which he should’ve expected but for some reason hadn’t. Not to say it wasn’t interesting, because it was, in its own way. There just was something in the air, a certain energy and tension that he couldn’t explain but pressed around him like a well used coat, snug and warm and comfortable. It felt familiar too and that more than anything allowed him to relax and enjoy the moment of communion for what it was.

Once it was over he stayed. Petunia hadn’t been happy about it but something about participating again in Mass after years without must have struck a chord in her because she relented and allowed it as long as he behaved and returned before nightfall. He promised and finally he was left alone except for a few stragglers and the old priest.

After walking around some and satisfying his curiosity about the many inscriptions he didn’t really understand and watching his fill of the equally beautiful and disturbing paintings and statues (not _all_ of them but _some_ were going to give him nightmares, he just knew), Harry returned to his new favourite spot in a shadowed corner and allowed himself to bask in the peace and silence. Privet Drive was almost never this silent, and when it was, it never was peaceful.

He wondered what the angel thought of all this, of the things the priest said, of the intense feeling he had gotten during Mass, of love and forgiveness and all the other lies they had been told. Angels existed so Harry believed God existed too even if he didn’t trust Him, and he wondered, what was God really like? Was He really was as forgiving as the priest said? Could He really love someone like Harry? What would it feel like, to be loved unconditionally? Or where those lies too? The same way ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ was a lie?

“Penny for your thoughts?” A vaguely familiar voice asked to his left, a bit too close for comfort.

Harry started and nearly fell from the pew but managed to catch himself in time to avoid embarrassing himself in front of the priest who... was much younger than Harry’s first impression of him; it probably was the man’s hair fault, which was shockingly white in colour. The other’s youth made that wary and distrustful thing in Harry’s chest ease a little for some reason the boy couldn’t grasp.  

“I... what?”

“Mm, you have been here for almost two hours thinking deep thoughts and being way too serious for a kid,” the priest said with an easy smile that drew a blush of embarrassment and a mumbled apology from Harry. “Don’t worry, kid. Silence is kind of the norm here, is just a bit unexpected, that’s all.” The priest leaned back, making himself comfortable in the frankly torturous pews. Harry thought that he looked quite at home like that, legs crossed at the ankles and globed hands entwined over his stomach and a gentle smile on his lips. “So... thoughts?”

Harry shrugged and followed the priest’s line of sight to the huge cross behind the altar. He averted his eyes quickly. He couldn’t remember if the man on the cross had been named during Mass but he didn’t like the look of utter agony on his painted face. It was... disturbing and uncomfortably familiar. He switched instead to the one of the colourful windows, the one with the angel.

“I... um, I was just thinking ‘bout angels. They’re...” he trailed off, unsure on how to finish that sentence. “I like them.”

“Who doesn’t?” The priest smiled kindly at him. “Do you know the name of this church... uh, sorry, but, what was your name again?”

“Harry,” the boy said in between giggles.

“My name’s Allen Walker*, it’s a pleasure Harry.” They shook hands. “But as I was saying, do you know what this church is called?” Harry frowned, trying to remember but gave up when he couldn’t. “It’s named after him,**” Father Walker pointed towards the window, “his name is Raphael. He’s an Archangel, they are the most powerful angels in Heaven, and he’s the patron of travelers, the blind, happy meetings, healers…***”

 “Healing?” Harry interrupted, suddenly far more interested.

Father Walker arched an amused eyebrow at him and Harry blushed and ducked his head, abashed at his daring. “M’sorry!”

The man laughed, a happy and warm sound the little boy wasn’t used to hear, not directed at him, not like that without a mocking edge. “It’s fine Harry, no need to apologize.” Harry tentatively returned the smile. “Would you like me to tell you more? I have time.”

Harry craned his head to see through the open doors and the bright light spilling inside. He had time too. He nodded to the white haired man. “Yes, please.”

 

**~o0o~**

 

All in all the day had been a success in Harry’s book and certainly the best birthday the boy had ever had. He had even managed to wrangle permission from his aunt to attend catechism at St. Raphael’s church three times a week after school with the class Father Walker taught.

Once dinner was eaten, the dishes washed and dried, Harry bid his relatives goodnight (he received grunts from the males and an unfathomable look from his aunt) and retired to the familiar space that was his cupboard. Father Walker had talked at length about angels and even answered his questions before moving onto faith and God and Jesus and so many wonderful and terrible things that Harry was going to need a lot of time just to sort it all out in his head, never mind his heart.

Time was something Harry had in spades though, despite the chores he did for the Dursleys, so that was okay, and he could think while working so there was that too. But there was one thing he could do right now, something he had done already but now that he could pin a name to his guardian he felt like he should do it again, this time properly.

He didn’t kneel at the end of the bed because, one: he didn’t have a bed, and two: there wasn’t enough space. Still, he clasped his hands and bowed his head and just... talked. He talked about anything and everything but mostly about today, how it was his birthday and it was almost over and how he’d passed most of the time in church and how it had been amazing and a bit scary; he talked about all the things he’d learnt, all the questions he still has and doubts he can’t shake. Finally he thanked him, for saving his life and for being around when he could even though Father Walker had said that Archangels were very busy because they were the most powerful angels in Heaven.

“... Thank you again, Raphael, and, um, goodnight.”

Raphael was in Heaven, taking care of the wounded of a recent demon attack, when his charge’s prayer reached him and he unconsciously tuned into it. As it tended to happen when he was this swamped with work, he had lost track of time. It hadn’t been long, a couple of days at worst, but he had completely forgot about Harry’s birthday. At least until the tinny voice of the child he was supposed to look out for reached out to him in the form of a prayer, telling him all about the things he had missed and leaving him strangely energized as well as curiously guilty.

It was a just child, 9 years old, little more than a baby even by human standards, but there was something in those honest words, some indescribable feeling that tore right through his defences and lodged itself deep in what passed for a heart in an angel. It caused something inside his being, something hard and heavy and dark, to crack and shift for the first time in millennia. Ignoring his brothers and sisters Raphael flew away and once he was alone he shrunk into himself, he wasn’t hurt per se (he was a healer, he could tell) but something felt off all of sudden and he didn’t understand what or why, he emotionally _couldn’t_ understand, not yet and not for some time. But eventually...

Well, time would tell and time was all they had ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> * Allen Walker is the protagonist of D.Gray-Man. This is not a ~Man crossover so don’t fret my dears. I just discovered I enjoy dragging characters from everywhere else instead of creating an army of OCs.
> 
> ** Apparently, unless the internet is lying to me, there is a St. Raphael church in Surrey, England. I found out after I finished writing this, so, sorry for any inconsistencies. 
> 
> *** The archangel Raphael is the patron of all those things according to Wikipedia. And matchmakers too, but little Harry interrupted. 
> 
> Again, I mean no disrespect to anyone’s religion. I just tried to imagine the reaction of a cynical and abused little boy to, not only the majestic sight that a Catholic churches tend to be, but also to God’s word. When Harry thinks that the priest’s words are lies it’s because all his life he has seen and experienced the opposite to love and forgiveness, etc.


End file.
